


Of hemlock, games and ice cream sauce

by Shaded Mazoku (Ashkaztra)



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashkaztra/pseuds/Shaded%20Mazoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kefka muses on ice cream, blood and chandeliers, among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of hemlock, games and ice cream sauce

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the cheerful-sounding title, this isn't exactly a nice fic. It's a Kefka introspective, which should really say it all. Written for the spook_me 2010 challenge on Livejournal, with the prompt _cannibal_ (which took a side role to Kefka being creepy, I fear...)

He likes blood.

It has a richer texture, and the coppery salt-and-sweet tang of it feels so nice on his tongue. Sort of tingly, in a strange and wonderful way. He thinks it'd probably go very well on walnut ice cream, but he hasn't had the opportunity to check, because he doesn't often carry ice cream around with him just in case he has to kill someone. Vector is just too warm for that. He can freeze it himself, of course, but that's not the same, and besides, he doesn't like using ice. Though he supposes he could make blood popsicles, were he so inclined. He is so inclined, really, and promises to keep that in mind for the next time.

He likes the colour of blood the most, though. Especially the blood coming straight from the lungs, such a beautiful, vibrant red. It's the colour of life, and when he dips his fingers into the still warm liquid, it looks striking on his pale skin,

Smiling, he draws his fingers across his lips, staining them with the essence of life itself. The lines smudge out on the sides, rendering his smile wider and even more predatory than he intended it. And he had intended it to be predatory, because he still can't get over how hilarious it is when the big army grunts look like they want to run away from him screaming.

He's not supposed to antagonize the soldiers, but they make it so very easy, and he never could resist an easy target. Besides, he really wants to see if he can make Leo implode if he stresses him up enough, because the man takes himself way too seriously and doesn't take Kefka seriously enough, and he really hates that.

His smile turns into a frown, and his nails dig deeper. He can't quite remember when they became sharp enough to carve flesh with, or why he was supposed to remember in the first place, and he's sure it's somehow relevant, but it won't be for long, because he'll awaken them soon, and then nothing will matter again. Not what he is, or what he was, or even that the squirming thing beneath his hands and dagger isn't the one he'd prefer to have there, but the Emperor said no.

He hates that even more than Leo.

Stupid Gestahl thinks he can control him, but Kefka is nobody's pet, and the only reason he lets Gestahl think he holds his leash is because he happens to like his metaphorical collar for now. If it was real, it'd be all shiny, with gems and mirrors and metal all over, he decides, a collar worthy of him. But leashes are slippery. Unless that's leeches, which is entirely possible, because he vaguely remembers putting them in the bed of one of the boys he was schooled with, and he'd had to use gloves. Though that could have been for the bites, too. Biting is all right, though, and when he slips his leash, which he will, he'll bite the hand that feeds him.

Gestahl's blood is probably stale, though.

A twist of his favourite blade and a slip of his nails that are really claws by now, and he has a lump of flesh in his hand. That isn't the plan, but he's flexible. He brings the bit of flesh up to look at it closer, grinning. His entire hand has gone red now, and he's going to have to spend hours getting all that blood out from underneath his nails. He licks some of the blood off, tasting copper, salt and hemlock, and smiles to himself, because hemlock makes him happy. It's not quite as good as aconite, because aconite hurts more, but it's easier to conceal, and also, it's just a fun word to say.

Lumps of flesh aren't any fun, so he drops it and carefully uses his blade to part skin and sever digits. It's a wonderful knife, made with obsidian and red gold, a gift from Gestahl to keep him loyal, but Kefka can't really be bought, so he happily accepted the blade and cheerfully devised seventeen ways in which he could kill the emperor with it, eighteen if he counted using it to drop a chandelier on his head, which would have been great fun. A loud crash and then a dead body, fresh blood washing over the shattered crystals and reflecting light all weirdly. He likes that thought.

Gestahl probably wouldn't like it. The chandelier in the dining hall is terribly expensive, after all, and one of a kind.

He probably wouldn't like being dead, either, but that was of much lesser importance, because Kefka could have all sorts of fun with razor-sharp broken prisms, but a corpse was only fun for a little while, until it got all disgusting and he had to put it on fire.

Picking up one of the fingers, he tsks a little. Somebody hasn't ever heard of taking care of his hands, all rough calluses and torn nails. But the digit is almost as pale as he himself is, because there's no blood in it, which is silly because there's certainly blood in Kefka, even though most of it isn't his own any more, what with the scientists stuffing his veins full of puréed Esper at any chance they got, and anyway, he's always been pale. Idly, he pops the finger in his mouth and bites down, giggling to himself as the bones crack open under his teeth, blood and marrow mingling with the lingering bitterness of the hemlock. It's a funny sensation, and a funny sound.

But he mustn't get too caught up in his fun, he reminds himself, as the man underneath him starts going into convulsions, because he's not supposed to kill him entirely, just a little, so he'll be good as bait still. That's the problem with having affectionate feelings, he knows; it makes people prone to stupid decisions, like trying to rescue your failed assassin friend from the highest security prison the Empire has, and Gestahl has promised that if he catches the rest of them, he can interrogate and execute them himself, which is always fun. Both the actual act and coming up with such a horrible way to do it that Leo will glare at him for months to come. His record is making Leo not even talk to him for six months, and he wants to try for a year this time.

The healing magic doesn't come as easily to him as any other magic does, but come it does, knitting together wounds and clearing up poison until his little toy is almost as whole as he was when they began, only missing a few fingers and a large portion of his sanity. The man starts screaming and crying, which is nice, but it grates on his ears quickly, so he threatens to gauge the man's eyes out using only his fingers. Or maybe the man's own severed ones, because that sounds good and he likes it when people cringe away from him in horror. But the man does quiet down, until his screams are muffled sobs, and by then, Kefka is already bored. There's nothing more to learn from his victim, and he seems to have broken him a little, which is typical. People these days are so easily destroyed, one little push and they dissolve into nothingness, swept away never to become themselves again.

And Kefka knows a little of being broken, but he's all right with it, because he might be shattered, but he's glued himself back together with all the sharp and shiny bits on the outside, and he's all the better for it, unlike these people, who just break, depriving him of his fun.

No challenge, and the amusement fades to fast, and if that wasn't bad enough, there's bone splinters stuck between his teeth now.

Maybe one day, the emperor will give him something worthwhile to play with. Or maybe he'll just play with the emperor, though he doesn't want anything to do with his blood. He knows where he's been.

And he has to have some standards, after all.


End file.
